Loss and Gain
by marymorstache
Summary: John experiences immense loss for the second time in his life and gains something new in the grief process.
1. Introduction

**ONE**

_It's happening. Oh god, it's really happening. The woman I love is about to give birth to our child._

_Our child._

_I'm going to be a father._

_This is…_

_Unbelievable._

_I must be dreaming._

Screaming comes from the room Mary is in. First it's Mary. John gets up from his seat, preparing himself for the final stretch, when he hears the nurses begin shouting as well.

He runs into the delivery room only to be immediately grabbed by two of the nurses and dragged out.

"Mary! Mary- MARY!" He yells over the shoulders of the nurses.

The doctors standing over Mary mostly block her from view. One of them moves out of the way, and she is able to make eye contact with John. She is white as a sheet and drenched in sweat.

She manages a feeble "John…" before beginning to convulse. Rapid beeping from various devices comes almost instantly.

"Mary! MARY! What's wrong with her?" He is still yelling as he gets locked out of the room. "Mary…"

John stands with his head against the door for nearly an hour. Sherlock shows up sometime during his wait and stands with him. John stumbles forward as the door begins to open.

He tries to enter the room but the doctor stops him. "Dr. Watson, might I ask you to sit down?"

John straightens and looks up at the doctor.

"No."

They maintain eye contact momentarily. "What's happened?" John asks, feeling uneasy.

"Dr. Watson, I'm afraid there were some complications in your wife's pregnancy. I'm terribly sorry, but…"

The rest was a blur to John. Everything around him was suddenly gone; it didn't matter. There was only Mary. But even then Mary wasn't there, really. Not anymore.

John staggers a bit to the side, Sherlock sliding over to catch him in time. He falls into Sherlock, and is consumed by darkness.

_I was wrong. I'm not dreaming. _

_This is a nightmare._


	2. Here

**ONE**

The first weeks after Mary's death were the worst.

John went to bed that night feeling empty. As he laid in his and Mary's bed he replayed the doctor's words from the hospital.

"_Eclampsia… the baby… we tried everything we could… so sorry for your loss…"_

The scene played back in his head over and over again until the sun rose and starting shining into the room. John looked to his left and placed his hand in the sunlight that only fell on Mary's side of the bed.

John ran his hand over the covers, moving it up to the pillow and tracing the outline of the imprint her head had left the night before. He sighed deeply and rolled onto his back.

_**BEEP BEEP.**_

Another sigh.

_**BEEP BEEP.**_

A loud groan.

_**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.**_

John relented and reached over for his phone. Five texts from Sherlock.

**SH: John.**

**SH: John.**

**SH: John?**

**SH: JOHN.**

**SH: JOHN?**

_Jesus Christ._

**JW: What do u want, u incessant dickhead?**

**SH: I'm sorry, John.**

_Shit._

Tears began to well in John's eyes.

_NO. Absolutely not. I am not about to let Sherlock bloody Holmes reduce me to tears with a single text._

**JW: No ur not.**

**JW: I know u didn't like Mary. U don't have 2 pretend u care.**

**SH: You're wrong, John.**

**SH: I was really quite fond of her by the wedding.**

About ten minutes passed with no other message.

**JW: Is that all u wanted Sherlock?**

**SH: I'm at your flat.**

**SH: Let me in.**

**JW: No.**

**SH: Fine. I'll break in.**

**JW: Don't u fucking dar-**

John heard the door click and swing open. He turned his head and saw the long coat and curly mop. "Get out." He turned his head back the other way and stared at Mary's empty sleeping space with a blank expression, the life completely drained from his eyes.

"John, um…" Sherlock entered the flat and took a few steps closer to his friend. "I think it's necessary to talk about, uh… about the, um…"

"The funeral."

Sherlock paused. "Yes." He looked down at the floor. "John I promised I would always be here for you. I'm here, I'll do anything you need me to do."

John rolled over and looked at Sherlock with bloodshot, watery eyes.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm here."

* * *

A week went by. John hadn't been able to sleep at all.

Sherlock did most of the planning for the funeral, and kept John steady when the time came to attend it. John had insisted he needed his cane to go to the service, but Sherlock denied it, saying John could rest a hand on Sherlock's arm if he felt weak.

John made it to the end of the service without breaking his usual stoic expression. As everyone else filed away from the fresh grave, John and Sherlock stood staring at it.

"I'm sorry, John."

"Stop it, Sherlock."

"Really. You don't deserve this. Not after what I did to you."

Then John broke. A guttural sob escaped from his mouth as he sank to his knees. As the tears began to pour out, Sherlock knelt down beside him. He placed a hand on John's shoulder and gave it a strong squeeze.

"Don't shut me out. Promise me, John."

John's hands were balled into fists as tightly as he could manage. Raindrops started to fall on them, and he relaxed his muscles.

"Yeah."

"Good." Sherlock stood up and offered a hand to John. He didn't budge.

"I'm staying."

And so they both did. Sherlock stood silently by his friend's side until John finally fell asleep.

John woke up the next morning back in his bed, unaware of how exactly he got there.

_**BEEP BEEP.**_

**SH: John.**

**SH: Are you awake yet?**

**JW: I am now.**

**JW: How did I get home last nite?**

**SH: Doesn't matter.**

**SH: Are you free today? Got a case.**

**SH: Of course you're free, what else would you be busy with today?**

**SH: Baker Street. One hour.**

**JW: No.**

**SH: Yes.**

**JW: Sherlock. NO.**

**SH: John. YES.**

Five minutes passed.

**JW: Damn.**

* * *

An hour later and John Watson was back at 221B Baker Street for the first time in a little over a month.

He opened the door and walked through. "Mrs. Hudson? Are you in?" No answer, so he made his way up the stairs.

As soon as he reached the top, Sherlock swung the door open to reveal a policewoman costume that was quite revealing in itself.

John's eyebrows shot up so high they smashed through the ceiling.

"Not. One. Word."

"Never." The corner of John's mouth twitched and he followed Sherlock inside the flat. "Has Lestrade seen you wearing that?"

"None of your business." Sherlock dropped into his chair.

"Oh, so he has then? Oh, that's brilliant!" John let out a high-pitched chuckle that ended in a sigh. His smile disappeared. "So this case of yours? What is it?"

"Oh… I didn't really have one, I just wanted to get you out of that flat."

"Why?"

Sherlock shot him a look that said everything. John replied with a look of cynicism and impatience.

"I'm fine," he said in a monotone voice.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm _fine._"

"Okay, John. Just remember that I am trying to make quite an effort here—" he gestured to his attire "—to cheer you up."

"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry." John shook his head and lowered his gaze to his feet.

Sherlock furrowed his brow with concern and looked around the flat, trying to figure out what to do next.

"Well, now that you're here… Anything you'd like to do?"

_Passive shrug._

"I could show you some experiments I'm working on?"

_Noncommittal shrug._

"We could play a game?" Sherlock was starting to get visibly exasperated. He wasn't good at this kind of thing.

_Exaggerated noncommittal shrug._

"For god's sake." Sherlock tilted his head up to the ceiling and groaned. "Uhhhhhh, fancy some chips?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Yeah, why not. I supposed I'd better eat something."

Sherlock clapped his hands together and jumped up. "Great! Let's go." He was headed for the door when John put a hand on his chest to block him.

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"Clothes."

"Right."


	3. Chips

**TWO**

_Ding!_

John and Sherlock walked into Speedy's, jingling the bell on the door as they did so.

"One order of chips, thanks…" Sherlock called over to the familiar man behind the counter. "Drink?" He turned to John.

"Nah."

Sherlock tilted his head and grunted disapprovingly before asking for two waters.

John rolled his eyes as they took their seats at the table in the back. "Thanks."

Sherlock glanced up at John but looked back down at the table quickly. "So, you must be curious."

"Yeah. Explain."

"Well I wasn't completely lying before about having a case. It just so happens that I had just solved it and arrived back at the flat when I texted you."

He paused. John glanced to the side and back at Sherlock.

"And?"

_Deep breath._

"And… this case involved a bit more hands-on involvement."

"MMPPHHHH." John snorted loudly with his hand over his mouth.

"Shut up."

"Hands-on?" John laughed. The chips arrived.

"SHUT UP. I was undercover."

"Yeah, but under whose?"

"Whose what- oh, grow the fuck up." Sherlock frowned and crossed his arms, tapping his foot wildly under the table.

John snickered. "Was she a pretty lady?"

Sherlock broke his composure for a moment, slightly remembering the last time John had asked that—"_Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?"_—and grinned. The smile faded fast though, and he averted his eyes to the ceiling in a failed attempt to seem nonchalant while he uttered his next words. "It was… a he."

John's eyebrow twitched.

"A he?"

"A man, yes."

A moment of silence went by.

"You know it's fine."

"Of course I know."

"Good, because I already told you it was fine five years ago."

"I know." Sherlock locked eyes with John and squinted.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Anyway," Sherlock started but said nothing else.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

Sherlock had been fiddling with his napkin for the better part of five minutes. It had taken the shape of the Sydney Opera House napkins from John and Mary's wedding.

John opened his mouth, but no words came out. His slightly open jaw just hung there while he thought back to when they had planned the most important day of his life.

_Sherlock had pulled out different options of folded napkins for the dinner, and Mary quickly persuaded him to confess to his viewing of instructional YouTube videos._

John stared blankly into space as he recalled the events that followed.

_Mary had insisted he get Sherlock out of the flat on a case. Apparently Sherlock had received the same command. She had been so concerned that she would prove Sherlock right and come between their friendship that she took it upon herself to ensure that that absolutely would not happen._

John's eyes began to water and his lip trembled.

Sherlock reached out and put his hand over John's. John's brow furrowed and his tears disappeared.

"What are you doing?"

John must have looked alarmed because Sherlock snapped his hand back instantly. "Nothing. Trying to be a better friend. I don't know. Am I doing it wrong?"

John's face fell. "Of course not, Sherlock. But you can't get better."

Sherlock frowned slightly. "What?"

"Well, you're already the best, remember?" He grinned and leaned across the table to pull Sherlock into a quick hug, patting his friend on the back reassuringly. "Thank you."

Sherlock sighed in relief and hugged his friend back.

* * *

Sherlock and John spent the rest of the day playing games in the flat. They left sometime during the evening when John wanted to go to the pub.

Enough pints later to get John completely trashed—but not before insisting that Sherlock have a few drinks with him—they made their way back to Baker Street.

John clapped his hand on Sherlock's back a couple times and said loudly, "Yer alright, mate…"

"Yeah, John. You too."

"No, nooooo… Like alright..."

"You're immensely intoxicated right now, John. What are you talking about?"

"You're jussss… great… You right… all of youuu… all o you is right. Alright." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and started swinging it back and forth in rhythm with their steps.

"Okay, John, we need to get you home."

"Noooooooooooooooo…" John whined, tugging on Sherlocks coat sleeve and coming to a stop. "I don't want tooooooo... I don't wan go back there, Sherlock… can't…"

Sherlock sighed and looked at his friend. "What do you want to do?"

"Can't I jus… stay with you tonight…?"

"Oh. Er." Sherlock paused to think.

"Please?"

Sherlock met John's eyes with concern. "Of course."

They made it back to 221B around two in the morning, John feeling sleepier with every step.

As they walked through the door, Sherlock remembered there was only one bed now that he was living alone. "Uh, you take the bedroom, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Awwww, mate… so sweet…" John looked touched through his drunken state. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock sighed and turned around. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hardly ever sleep in the bed anyway."

"Aw, shucks… well heyyy Sherly, if you wanna you could jussss…" _THUMP._

John tripped and fell over. Sherlock whipped his head around at the noise. "Christ. Come on. Let's get you to bed." He walked over and looped his arm around John's middle to help him up and into the bedroom.

Sherlock plopped him down onto the bed. John swayed back and forth while Sherlock picked various things up off the floor so John wouldn't trip over anything again.

"Shurrrrlock…"

Still tidying up.

"Shuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrlock."

"Yes, John, what is it?" Sherlock strode over and stood in front of John. "What?"

John stood up quickly but lost his balance, stumbling into Sherlock. Sherlock grasped John's forearms near the elbows to help steady him.

John looked up at Sherlock for a moment and then thrust his face forward. Their lips crashed together.

Sherlock struggled for a moment before finally deciding to break away. "John!"

John's lip quivered and tears appeared in his eyes. He closed them as he swung his head around, muttering apologies to his friend.

"John. John, it's okay," Sherlock said. His friend looked at him and stared into his eyes. He reiterated. "It's _okay_."

"It's okay," John repeated. He squinted in thought for a moment before crawling under the covers. "Can yeh turn the lightsoff on yer way out…" His words faded into snores.

"Of course, John." Sherlock flipped off the light switch and closed the door.


	4. Awake

**THREE**

"Uggghhhhh…" John rolled over and rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock?"

No answer. Light was pouring in through a crack in the blinds and falling right on John's face. He squinted in discomfort.

"Sherlock?" he called again.

The door opened a bit. "Yes, John?"

"Where am I?" He lifted his head up to look at Sherlock.

"My bedroom. Baker Street."

"Oh, god. Why?"

"You were drunk and you refused to go back to your flat. So, I set you up in here and took the couch."

"Oh." John shook his head. "Ugh. Jesus."

"How do you feel?"

"Bloody awful. Do you have any juice?"

"Yeah, it's in the refridg-"

"Juice that does not contain eyeballs?"

Silence.

"Why don't I just go pop over to Speedy's for something real quick?"

"Yeah, why don't you," John chuckled, leaning back into the pillow.

After a few minutes, he forced himself out of bed. Still groggy, John changed out of the clothes he passed out in and hopped in the shower.

He walked out into the living room in his robe, scratching his head. "Sherlock? You back with the juice ye-?"

John was cut off by a loud crash, as Sherlock whipped around and dropped the glass he was holding, sending orange juice and shards of glass everywhere.

"For god's sake, John, put some clothes on!" Sherlock growled, stooping over to clean up the mess.

John let out a laugh. "Since when do you care that I walk around in my robe? Used to do it all the time."

"Since… I don't know, just help me deal with this. OW!" Sherlock yelped, sticking his thumb in his mouth. "Shit."

"Let me see."

_Daggers_.

John was a bit taken aback by the look Sherlock gave him. "I'm a doctor, you twat, give me your hand."

Sherlock locked eyes with John and extended his arm.

John took Sherlock's hand in his own and flipped it over. He squeezed Sherlock's thumb lightly, observing the small shard of glass sticking out of it. "Easy. Stay there." He released Sherlock's hand and got up to look for tweezers.

Sherlock didn't budge. The only thing he could concentrate on was the softness of John's skin on his. How gentle John's hands were. Sherlock's hand was still suspended in the air when John returned.

He knelt down again. "Give it here," John commanded.

Sherlock rested his shaky hand in the army doctor's steady ones. He watched as John masterfully rested the tweezers around the shard, squeezed lightly, and pulled. Sherlock barely noticed the twinge of pain that came with the removal of the glass.

He couldn't concentrate on anything this morning. _What is John doing? Does he remember what happened last night? I barely had anything at the pub, but John was so full of alcohol maybe he doesn't. Oh, god. The moment we met, I found myself experiencing… something._

"Sherlock."

_I've never experienced anything like it before. I guessed what it must have been, so naturally I ruled out any possibility of anything happening between us right away. But now…_

"Sherlock."

They were both still kneeling on the floor, Sherlock's hand in John's. Sherlock looked up, straight into John's eyes. Their faces were about three or four inches apart, and Sherlock jerked and stumbled back, disoriented.

"Christ, Sherlock, what's the matter with you today?"

"Nothing." Sherlock picked himself up off the floor and straightened his shirt.

"No, you're acting weird." John stood up too. "More than usual, that is."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock strode into the kitchen and tried to look busy with his various beakers and scientific instruments.

"Yes you do." John followed him and crossed his arms, staring Sherlock down. "What happened? Talk to me."

_CLANG._

"It's your fault." Sherlock dropped the bowls he was pretending to compare and turned to face John, hands on his hips.

"My fault." John repeated.

"Yes." Sherlock pushed past John and curled up in his chair. John rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Stop moping and tell me what's going on, you arse."

Sherlock glared at John.

John glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock averted his gaze, but quickly met John's stern gaze again.

John raised his eyebrows.

"UGH! FINE, JOHN," Sherlock roared and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest. "You really want to know?"

"I really want to know."

"You kissed me."

_Silence._

"No I didn't."

"You did."

"No."

_More silence._

Sherlock stared into his friend's eyes and waited.

John laughed. "No." His smile faded quickly, and he stared incredulously back at Sherlock. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

* * *

An hour later, Sherlock and John were sitting in their respective chairs. They had both been staring at the floor the entire time with the exception of one or two brief glances at each other.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again.

John noticed and looked up. "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why does this have to change anything?

"John, it already has." Sherlock groaned and got up, pacing back and forth across the flat.

John's eyes followed Sherlock around the room. "What do _you_ mean?"

Sherlock stopped abruptly and whipped around to look at John. "It's… hard to explain."

"Try."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked back down at the floor. He studied the rug for a moment before speaking. "Last night, when you… when it happened… I inadvertently reacted in a way that was immensely surprising to myself and would most likely shock you as well."

"Is that so?" John smirked.

"Do you think this is funny?" Sherlock shot him a look before turning around.

John sighed and got up. "No, of course not. I'm just… well, you were right. I'm a little taken aback." He walked over to Sherlock and placed his hands on the detective's shoulders. Sherlock flinched but settled into the touch. His eyes welled up with tears. He sniffed loudly.

"It's alright. You're alright." John's hands slid down Sherlock's arms to his elbows, his thumbs moving in a circular motion.

Sherlock let out a shaky laugh. "You said that last night. I had no idea what you were talking about."

"Apparently, neither did I." John laughed with him. He exhaled softly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's middle, relishing the feel of his arms moving against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock slowly closed his eyes and let himself relax. _It's John. You trust John. John is good. John is alright. _He grinned. _Yeah. John is alright._

With John's arms still around him, Sherlock turned around to face his friend. John raised his hands and captured Sherlock's face in them. "Do you trust me?"

"Always, John."

John pulled Sherlock closer. Pause.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment filled with a silence that was screaming out every unspoken feeling, every intense gaze, every gut-wrenching time when one feared losing the other.

Their lips met.


	5. Entries

**FOUR**

_Immediately following their first real kiss, Sherlock grabbed John's hands and pulled them away from his face._

"_John."_

"_What's wrong, Sherlock?"_

"_This might be a bit not good." He let go of John's hands and looked away._

_Incredulous, John frowned. "Why?"_

_Silence._

"_What are you thinking?"_

_More silence._

"_Sherlock you'll have to tell me sooner or later."_

_Sherlock sighed. "I'm not what you want."_

"_I think you should let me decide that for myself, mate," John said with a chuckle._

_Sherlock looked back at John. _How? How could John possibly want _me_? He's known me for years, known every bad attitude, every insult, every half-assed attempt to act like I don't care about anyone but myself.

"_I see through all of it you know."_

Does he always know what I'm thinking? Why does he ever ask?

"_I know you act like caring isn't an advantage, but that doesn't stop you from doing it." John raised a hand to cup Sherlock's cheek._

_Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch._

"_John, of course I care about you. That's undeniable. But I can't-"_

"_You can."_

"_No. John. I-"_

"_No, Sherlock, you listen to me. This is a good thing. This is a very good thing. Trust me. I want this as much as—if not more than—you do. And I know you do."_

"_Oh, is that so?" He opened his eyes to look at John with joking disbelief._

"_Obviously." John snorted._

"_Obviously." Sherlock noticed John was running his thumb over Sherlock's cheekbone. _How long has he been doing that?

"_So can we at least try this? I'd very much like to."_

_Sherlock sighed again and finally relented. "Oh, alright then."_

"_Good… OW!"_

"_John, what is it? Are you hurt- Oh, you complete arse."_

_John released Sherlock's cheek and held up his thumb, grinning ear to ear. "Got you."_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes._

"_Those damn, pointy cheekbones of yours..." John's voice trailed off as he went to safely pour his own cup of juice._

Over the following days, Sherlock thought it might be wise to record his observations of their… relationship?

[DAY 1: JUNE 3rd, 2014 - 02:11 AM]

It has been 15 hours since the arrangement between John and myself was mutually confirmed. So far, nothing bad to report.

The day was normal for the most part.

We responded to Lestrade's call around 3:00 PM, assisting him at a crime scene over in Regent's Park1. I can recall being hyperaware of John watching me do my work. I glanced over at him quickly and caught him smiling as he usually does, with that dazed look in his eyes. I suppose I never gave it much notice before. Anyway, after I was finished kneeling over the corpse to examine it for any clues, John offered me his hand to help me up. It was…

Charming.

As per usual, we retrieved takeaway from the Chinese place we like. We ate our lo mein together on the couch while we watched reruns of Doctor Who. The 10th Doctor and Donna of course. She's our favorite companion. One of the few things we have in common when it comes to that show. She reminds me of John. John agrees2.

Apparently while I was absorbed in the Doctor and Donna's current adventure, I absent-mindedly reached over and held John's hand. He noticed and peeked over at me. I returned the look and shrugged, so we resumed watching telly without saying a word. I must have fallen asleep because when I finally awoke fifteen minutes ago, I found myself covered with a blanket and resting on a pillow. It was one of John's. It smells like him.

UPDATE: Still not sure why he wants to do this. I'm not good at "relationship" nonsense.

* * *

[DAY 2: JUNE 4th 2014 – 00:17 AM]

John is snoring next to me. Not in my bed. At the kitchen table.

…

He wanted to stay up to help me with an experiment, but I'm afraid he was much more tired than he thought. He fell asleep around 11:45 PM, so I returned the favor from last night and wrapped him in a blanket and carefully lifted his head to place a pillow underneath. Is that good?

In any case, it was sweet of him to try. Normally I have to beg and plead with him to help, but he offered before I could try tonight.

I almost forgot, earlier we had tea with Molly. John invited her to come round the flat, and somehow I was convinced to play Cluedo. For everyone's sake (Mrs. Hudson included, I should hate to give her a heart attack through the wall by shouting bloody murder.), I restrained myself and did not point out the numerable flaws in the godforsaken board game.

I don't think I realized until now that John could persuade me to do just about anything if he tries hard enough. How long have I felt this way about him? Strange.

Maybe it was always there and somehow it managed to be the one thing I missed in all my years as a consulting detective.

UPDATE: John will get tired of this eventually. I'm sure of it. I'll enjoy it for now, I suppose.

* * *

[DAY 3: JUNE 4TH, 2014 – 10:59 PM]

I went out early and got the milk John is always complaining about. When I returned to the flat with it, he looked at me l had sprouted another head. I heard him chuckle triumphantly when I turned around to put it in the fridge. Git.

John used it to make us blueberry pancakes. We sat together at the kitchen table, occasionally peering over our cups of tea at each other and smiling like morons. I'm still baffled that John makes me this happy with little to no effort.

While he was out making a house call, I took it upon myself to clean up the flat a bit. John uh, _appreciated_ it quite a bit when he came home this afternoon. He kissed me again. Quite… well, quite passionately, really. I've no other word for it. The tips of his ears went pink, and if I'm being honest, I could feel my cheeks burning as well. He must have noticed because when he was finished ravishing me against the wall, he took one look at me and chuckled to himself as he went to change into pajamas.

UPDATE: I have NO words for any of this. I am completely and utterly dumbfounded. I can't believe John has made it three days. I can't believe _I_ have made it three days. Maybe John is right.

* * *

[DAY 15: JUNE 16TH, 2014 – 11:24 PM]

Just got back from drinks with Graham — John has informed me Lestrade's first name is actually Greg. I had better change that in my phone. Again.

Anyway, John and I went for dinner at Angelo's tonight. As we were walking home we stopped in at The Museum Tavern over on Great Russell Street and ran into Gav — Greg . Shit. Well, we decided to stick around for a bit. He finally left his wife tonight. He got a bit too drunk, so I suggested we take him here. Obviously we couldn't bring him back to his own house after the whole ordeal with his wife.

John gave me a strange look. I couldn't figure out what it was, but one corner of his mouth was kind of tilted up and he shook his head a bit. Oh well.

So Greg is asleep in John's room, and although I am astounded to say it, John is asleep in mine. With me. I am also in here. I'm sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, and John is snoring (he does that a lot) under the covers. I like to watch him sleep. It's strangely peaceful.

UPDATE: Things are good.

* * *

[DAY 38: JULY 9TH, 2014 – 03:05 PM]

Has it really been over a month?

Up until today things have been going quite smoothly. However, John and I got into a pretty heated argument an hour ago. He says I've been paying too much attention to my work. I pointed out that my work is, in fact, _our_ work. He became more and more irritated, going on to blurt out something about sex, looking very shocked at himself, and storming off to his room.

Maybe…

UPDATE:


	6. Insight

**FIVE**

_Shit. I did something wrong. I must have. What was it? _Sherlock grunted in frustration. He was pacing around the flat pressing his fingers to his temples, millions of volatile thoughts racing through his head and crashing into the sides of his brain as though they were trying to burst out and destroy him.

_My work isn't the real reason he's upset with me. No, that's definitely not it. Judging from his reaction to his own outburst regarding sexual activity, chances are he probably misses it. _Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at himself in the mirror that rested above the mantel. _Sex. With… me? Why would he want to do that? Does he?_

Sherlock frowned. "No, probably not."

He went back to pacing. _Why is this so hard? Why why _"WHY?" He balled his fists and thrust them at his chair, dropping to his knees and resting his head on top of his now crossed arms. Sherlock took in a deep breath through his nose and then released it slowly through his mouth.

_Just ask him._ He lifted himself up off the chair. _Just ask him. _Sherlock made his way over to John's room. _Just knock on the door and ask him. _He raised his hand to knock. _Just knock. Knock, you moron! _Two gentle taps with the knuckle of his forefinger. "John?"

He heard a groan through the door.

"I can tell you're ecstatic about my sudden appearance outside your bedroom. Can I come in?"

Another groan.

"I'm coming in." Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside. His eyes fell immediately on John, who was lying facedown on the bed with a pillow over his head. He sat down next to John and tentatively placed a comforting hand on John's upper back. "What happened?"

John shrugged.

"You can talk to me about it. About anything. You know that, I don't know why I'm saying it-"

John emerged from under his pillow. "It's alright." He sat cross-legged on the bed and reached out for Sherlock's hand. "It's kind of tough to explain."

"Okay."

Deep breath. "You know Mary and I were involved… sexually."

"Of course." Sherlock didn't flinch.

"And since we didn't fool around at all while she was pregnant… er, it's kind of been a while."

"A while," Sherlock repeated.

"Yeah. Since I had sex." John furrowed his brow briefly before relaxing his forehead again. "First of all, Sherlock, I'm not suggesting we have sex. However, the urge has been at the back of my mind for months. After Mary died, I felt disgusting whenever… well, whenever I was horny. Christ, that makes me sound like a teenager. Anyway, I felt bad enough having the urges, but now I'm having them because of you." John looked at Sherlock. "Does that make any sense? It's confusing even to me."

"To say the very least. I'm surprised you haven't told me this before, John."

"We don't usually talk about this sort of thing, Sherlock."

"We could have, if you wanted to." Sherlock distractedly squeezed John's hand. "You mean a great deal to me, and I would hate to cause you to keep things like this to yourself. It's a burden, John, and if you'll let me I can help you bear it."

John smiled and leaned in to bump Sherlock with his shoulder. "Who says Sherlock Holmes doesn't have a heart?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

* * *

The rest of the day was filled with tension.

Sherlock crouched on his chair and thought, while John tapped away at his computer. Sherlock eyed him, taking in the sounds of each key clacking as they were pressed down. _Two fingers. Cute. _"What are you typing?"

"Oh, just the last case."

"Okay."

Sherlock steepled his fingers and bounced into a horizontal position, stretching out across the chair with his legs dangling off one side. One foot was swinging back and forth out of boredom.

He looked down his nose at John, who had stopped typing. "What are you thinking about?"

"Huh—what?" John seemed dazed as he turned around to face Sherlock. His ears turned pink. "Um. Nothing. Daydreaming, I suppose."

"About what?"

"Nothing- er, I mean… I don't really remember. I snapped out of it so quick the though just kind of faded. Yeah."

"Right."

John glanced at the floor, then went back to staring at his computer. He raised his hands to the keyboard, and then—

"I wouldn't be opposed to it. If you aren't either, of course."

John whipped his head around and stared blankly at Sherlock.

"What?"

"You know."

"Er…"

"Sex."

"Uh-huh." John's averted his gaze back to the floor, now staring into space.

Sherlock was still watching him.

"John."

"Hmm? Oh. Well, er, I wasn't really expecting… I mean, I was hoping? Oh god, I don't know what I'm saying," John stuttered.

"That's fine—"

"Right now probably isn't the best—"

"I just thought I'd—"

"I mean I'd love to—"

"Let you know—"

"When I'm ready—"

"It's not really my area—"

"When you're ready—wait. Sherlock have you ever even… Have you had any experience?"

Sherlock let out a strangled noise(1). "Well, I—I kissed a few people at University. Made out, I guess. Let's see… I touched a breast once."

John snorted loudly and started laughing. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. "John, I don't appreciate your amusement at my lack of sexual experience."

"No, no, you're right. I'm sorry. Just the way you said it—" His words were cut off by a fit of giggles.

"Hmph." Sherlock grumbled.

"No, I'm sorry." John went over to kneel next to Sherlock. "Look, this is clearly a touchy subject. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, and I don't want to feel guilty if we get to that point in the… relationship." They were both still getting used to that word.

Sherlock smiled. "If?"

John raised his eyebrows suggestively. "When."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock let out an audible sigh and caressed John's arms with his slender hands.

John stood up, offering a hand to Sherlock. "Come on. Let's go get some dinner."

"Dinner?" Sherlock chuckled.

"Oh, hush."

* * *

[DAY 38: JULY 9TH, 2014 – 03:05 PM edited 11:24 PM]

Has it really been over a month?

Up until today things have been going quite smoothly. However, John and I got into a pretty heated argument an hour ago. He says I've been paying too much attention to my work. I pointed out that my work is, in fact, _our_ work. He became more and more irritated, going on to blurt out something about sex, looking very shocked at himself, and storming off to his room.

Maybe…

UPDATE: We worked through it. I hope John's feelings for me don't change anytime soon. I don't think I have ever been happier than I am right now.


End file.
